The name of this story is:Defining Low
Author:Cruelty of the Snow
Fandom:Dogs: Bullets and Carnage by Miwa Shirow
Pairing:Heine Rammsteiner x Badou Nails
So here it is, at last! Chapter Two of Defining Low! I hope no one is too utterly enraged at me for taking so long to get the next chapter up, but I haven't forgotten! I wanted to get this chapter our sooner, but various things got in the way. At last, however, here it is! And as an apology for the long wait,my dear readers, I'll be putting up a pretty smutty Haine x Badou one shot I wrote for fun, within the next week or two. It's been almost done for a while, and I'm just working on some final touches!
And once again, I will reiterate, this is not directly based from the manga/ova, it has the same characters, with the same basic pasts, but they are living as if they have yet to meet each other.
Defining Low: Chapter Two
Badou found himself regretting his agreement to meet the other man, yet his hunger served as strong enough motivation to lure him out of his home once more. In a hurry, he'd scoured his entire apartment, searching for clothes functional for concealing his gender, yet modest enough so the other man would, indeed, feed him.
It wasn't Badou's lucky day.
Absolutely nothing he owned so much as resembled modest feminine apparel. A straight man did not normally own female garments and a drag queen did not often own modest garments. Though he owned a bit of both, the two didn't seem to overlap.
It appeared he'd be fashionably late to meet the other man, as he ran towards the shop where he most often acquired his…elements of feminine dress. The first time he'd entered said shop, he'd sworn it would be the last time; however, life did have quite the habit of throwing the occasional riveting surprise into Badou's life. He didn't completely appreciate this fact, at least, not as much as he could have. He'd been in the shop many times since his introduction to embarrassment, and knew more about the lewd and lusting shop keeper than him or any of the man's other unfortunate customers before him had ever wished to know.
When Badou entered the shop, clearly flustered, the shop keeper's eyes lit up.
"Why my little Badou! My little prodigy! My little puppy!" He chuckled. "To whatever cause might I attribute this delightful little visit? Have you outgrown your old …. Lingerie? Are you feeling more adventurous now and finding it's all a bit too youthful and childish?" The man was squat, with a large, misshapen black mustache, and a balding head. His eyes, however, were heavily lined in fluorescent blue eyeliner and his lips painted an obnoxious red. All in all, Badou found the entire combination a tad disconcerting.
The man reached out a meaty hand in cheerful greeting. "Ah, my little Badou!" He purred, much to Badou's continuing horrification.
Finally the red head managed a spluttering reply. "N-No! Are ya crazy or somethin'?" he paused, before forcing himself to continue on. "I was hoping you had something a little more modest to offer me, ya' know?" He hissed, as if concerned someone would overhear the conversation.
"Mmhmm. You know, Badou. I'm sure you'd have a boyfriend by now if you made a point to talk like a lady! Dropping the beginnings and ends of your words, is such an atrocious habit! I shiver in fear every time I'm around you, terrified I might just pick it up!" The man exclaimed, perfectly annunciating every word he spoke. "Now I'll just need to get your measurements and select you a new outfit!"
"Ya' already have my measurements, ya' ol' pervert!" Badou exclaimed, dropping the ends and beginnings of his words even worse now. "And, you know I don't want a … boyfriend! Tits. I want tits."
"Mmm. Are you not happy with the falsies I provided? I have some bigger ones if you really want to impress someone!" The plump man chuckled. He now held a worn measuring tap in his sausage like hands, as he began to take measurements despite Badou's protests.
"That's not what I meant!" Badou protested, searching uselessly for the cigarettes he'd left in his apartment, yet again. "And what are ya' doin'? I don't have all day! I'm in a hurry here!"
"Mmm. I'll skip right to the bottom measurements then! To get you some fitting lingerie!"
"Fuck you! Ya' old pervert! I just want a top and some pants so I can pass as a chick!"
"Fuck me, hmm? Well, I do charge a small fee, but if it will really liven up your night…." The squat man purred, before walking away from Badou and rummaging about through the shelves of his shop for what Badou had requested.
"Just what I needed ta' know. My clothing dealer's a hooker…" Badou groaned.
"Only for the right fee!" The older man giggled, as he tossed Badou a loose top and a mini skirt. "I know you've been keeping your legs shaved for your job, so you shouldn't have to worry about any obscene leg hair, right?" He inquired.
"Yeah.. Thas' right. Just… uh… I'll pay you when I get paid again. I need to make my way to a free meal." Badou stuttered, booking it for the door.
"Of course, little Badou! I'm glad you're learning how to get yourself some free food!"
Badou could have sworn he felt vomit rising in the back of his throat, as he stripped himself down in the back alley outside the shop door. Sure it was broad daylight, but it beat changing in front of that creep. He shoved his discarded drag clothes into the shop, figuring they'd make an even exchange for the get up he was now wearing. With a final check of his de-manning makeup, in a nearby store window, he began to make his way toward the café he'd agreed to meet the white haired man at, earlier that day.
He just hoped his free meal was still waiting for him. He was going to feel extremely fucked over if the white haired man had grown tired of waiting during Badou's frenzy of clothes hunting. The red head found himself practically running, in heels, and, as he became all too aware of, a thong.
And said thong was riding dangerously far up his ass at a time when he certainly didn't have the leisure to pause and extract it, not that a thong really was meant to be extracted.
Badou was quickly becoming another tragic victim to the thong wedgie epidemic.
With a histrionic sigh, he trekked his way, dutifully, and painfully, to the café. When, at least, it came into sight, he could have sworn he heard the serenade of angels. He burst his way through the doors, a determined (and ravenous) expression on his face.
Heine's head immediately turned when he heard the door open, and he came face to face with his flustered, new companion. She had indeed changed clothes, though she'd kept on the awful heels that left her towering over him.
A grimaced plastered itself firmly on Heine's face, as he gestured for her to come over and take a seat, which she quickly did. Out of the corner of his eye, the white-haired man saw the waitress give him an odd look. He knew the staff of the café weren't used to see him with company, much less that of the opposite gender. Heine found himself rapidly regretting his choice of this morning's breakfast location. He didn't particularly fancy being questioned about the red head for weeks on end by the workers.
"Glad you could make it, but you're late, aren't you?" Heine grumbled, looking up at the red head. "Here I was hoping you wouldn't show up, and I really was getting my hopes up so high…. "He added, wistfully.
"Shut your trap. I'm only ten minutes late, and anyhow, I was making myself presentable! You know, since you thought I looked so whorey. Whatta thing ta' say to a woman!" The red head exclaimed, shaking her head. "You'd better hope this café is pretty fucking delicious to make up for a comment like that!" She insisted. "And of course you're buying!" She added, with a definite delighted tone.
Heine looked to the ground, shaking his head in something akin to despair. "Yes. Yes. Of course." He added, in an exhausted tone, as he waved one of the waitresses of the restaurant over to the table, wishing more than anything he possessed the simple option to return home and partake in a much needed act of sleeping.
He waited as the woman sitting before him ordered herself a large breakfast, though Heine found himself surprised that it was not an even larger or most costly one. He, himself, ordered a pile of bacon and sausage, making a point to look anywhere, but at the woman sitting across from him. Finally, he attempted to make conversation. "So. Why were you so insistent on me buying you breakfast? I'm not interested in you, if that's what you're trying to get at." Heine grumbled, shaking his head. "I don't go for … your type. I've already said."
"I think you're going to owe me another breakfast if you keep making comments like that." The red head grumbled back in reply. "I don't put up with shit. I'm not interested in you, either, but a girl can't let herself get walked on. Ya' let one man walk on ya' and next thing ya' know they're all running a marathon on your back!"
Heine was silent for a moment "What?"
"Eh, nothing." The girl replied. "What it comes down to is simple. You insulted me, and I don't take insults lightly. You like not being kicked in the groin, and I like food. Really, it's a win win situation for us both, don't you agree?"
"Uh. Sure." Heine replied, wishing even more strongly for the safety of the church he'd taken up refuge at, and more importantly, his bed. This red headed bitch needed to eat her food and get lost. He ran a slender hand through his white hair, looking over to the kitchen door, willing their meal to waltz it's way over to them, with our without the assistance of a waiter.
An awkward silence unfolded, blanketing the two, and Heine found himself believing the red head told the truth. Perhaps, his own theories of conspiracy had been greatly flawed and the woman really was just trying to get a free meal? If that was the case, he had cause to feel rather embarrassed about being cajoled into providing a meal for this wench. He folded his hands, looking back at the kitchen again until, at last, their food arrived.
The red head ate, quickly and voraciously, however she managed to escape only slightly scathed by Heine's own rude remarks. When they were both finished, Heine bid her farewell, satisfied he would never, ever see her again, or have to sit through such an awkward and unfortunate breakfast. She was, by no means, a spy, and that meant he should never have to lay eyes upon her again.
So, why was it, that as they parted ways, he was haunted by the strange strange sensation he wouldn't make it through the week without seeing the red head again?
Because, quite frankly, he really wouldn't.
End Note: Well there it was! Chapter Two! I can promise you that things will really really start to liven up in Chapter Three! So you all have something to look forward to.
Now, on another note, if any of you would like to follow me on deviantart, my account is CrueltyoftheSnow just like my name here! This account is mine and mine alone, so you'll only be able to contact me here, and none of the other members of O.Y. but I'd love to talk to anyone interested in my writing, and I'll also be posting updates about my progress on my journals. :) Farewell for now and there should be a new chapter sooner than it took for me to write this one.